The Monster of Bywater
by Talking Hawk
Summary: Frodo visits Bilbo one day, and meets a certain someone. . . Ch. 10 is now up! Story completed. No slash.
1. The Bet

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter One - The Bet  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
Author's Note: Not a slash. Also, this story covers two topics that, while has been written numerous times in the past, has never been done quite like this. I wrote this story on an individual basis for the Middle-Earth's Finest fanfiction competition. If I have done an even semi-decent job at this, then this story may make you laugh, say, "Awwww!" a couple of times, and maybe even make you shed a tear or two. Thank you for reading, and I hope you will enjoy. Rated G.  
  
"Why don't you go out and explore a bit?" Bilbo suggested to the moping youth. Frodo sat at the kitchen table, sighing as he laid his mop of curls upon his folded arms. "I don't *want* to. . ." came the muffled reply.  
  
Up to this point, the elder of the two hobbits had been stirring the pot of stew set upon the counter, but at this, Bilbo set down his wooden spoon. His lips forming a thin - and somewhat frustrated - line, he took a seat on the bench across from the boy. He set his chin upon his arms in a similar fashion as his nephew (well, more accurately, his *cousin*, but let us not get into that discussion. . .), their gazes finally becoming eye-to-eye.  
  
"Frodo, my lad," Bilbo sighed, "I know that you miss your Brandybuck relatives terribly, but you know that the best place for you is *here.* Isn't that right, my lad?" The boy sighed as well, but with the unrepressed sorrow that could only belong to that of a growing tweenager. It had been several years since his parents' untimely deaths, but had been plucked out of Brandy Hall to stay at Bag End for a time. There was a disease - though non-deadly, rather torture some - running its course through its halls, making every child sick to the point of tears.  
  
Frodo Baggins had long since become immune to the virus that caused this ghastly thing, but the pain of seeing his cousins in such torment made his soul weep. He did his best to sit at their bedsides, and hold them and tell them of far-off places and far-off people, but it was simply no use. The administering of the medicine and other treatments grew more trifle some with Frodo's presence, always having to go around him to get to the children. So, before the lad knew it, the children's sensitive mentor had been temporarily expelled.  
  
This is how he got here, to Bag End. Wanting to do everything in his power to help, Bilbo had volunteered to take in the lad - anything to remove him from such a horrid atmosphere as that of wailing and troubled children, especially those that Frodo loved so dearly as if they were his own siblings. It had been a few days since this separation, and the tweenager had yet to take it well - in Bilbo's eyes, he simply moped about the smial, his mind focused on nothing in particular, but all the same, dwelling upon his cousins' welfare.  
  
It had to stop here and now.  
  
"I am sorry," Bilbo finally whispered. "I really am. . ." Two clear blue eyes bore back into his own, a spark of cynicism running through them. They seemed to ridicule, 'Yes, you are very sorry. But now you're going to tell me why I shouldn't keep on being sad, right? Oh, how many times I've heard that before, Bilbo. . .ever since. . .the Accident. . .'  
  
Thinking that this direct approach may not be the best after all, Bilbo drew back his advancement and chose another route. "Say, Frodo. . .how would you like to make a bet?"  
  
"A bet?" Frodo repeated, arching up an eyebrow. "What sort of bet?. . ."  
  
A smile flickered across Bilbo's lips. Sitting up a bit, the hobbit slipped his hand into his vest pocket, running a finger over the smooth, cool surface of the trinket within. "Well," he began, "I was thinking that if you *win*, I would let you read the book I'm writing. . ."  
  
Book? Frodo's eyes immediately lit up with interest. He lived his life for books, the appropriate getaway for a fanciful mind such as his. He loved reading about Elves, Dwarves, dragons, and other notoriously legendary things. Most people in the Shire did not believe that they even existed, and those that did viewed them as a sort of crop-eating insect - once one comes, the rest follow and swallow up everything good and prosperous. All Big People were viewed this way. . .  
  
But Frodo was different. He had heard of Bilbo's infamy with associating with such people, and the lad admired him for that. He had always wanted to visit - and even stay, if he was lucky enough - "Mad Baggins," and he would've been happy to be at Bag End had it not been for the circumstances.  
  
This book, Frodo decided, must be one overflowing with knowledge and - dare he lift his hopes up so high? - adventures of such fascinating specimens. He must have it, even if he should only be allowed to *glimpse* at the contents of its pages!  
  
Doing his best to appear uninterested (which was a failure in itself, as Bilbo had already seen the twinkle in the boy's eyes), Frodo sat up and folded his arms over his chest. Closing his eyelids as though in irritated tolerance, he spoke, "*So*. . .what exactly did you have in mind for this, this. . .'*bet*,' as you so wish to call it?"  
  
Bilbo fought valiantly with himself to keep the smirk off his aging face. Also managing to suppress an offending chuckle, he cleared his throat and replied, "Well, I had a bit of something in mind, Frodo-lad. If you should choose to accept this bet, your challenge is to go anywhere here in Hobbiton - the village, a field, the Bywater creek - and bring me back a bit of something showing that you were there. What do you say?"  
  
Frodo stared at him a long moment, disgust shining through his glass-like eyes. 'Madness,' he scoffed. 'Sheer madness. It is like those games that parents play with their children - "Whoever stays quiet the longest," they tell their bickering lads and lasses while on a family excursion, "wins! Now, let us play 'The Quiet Game'. . ." My dear Bilbo, is this the best thing you could think up?'  
  
". . .That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."  
  
The elder Baggins could handle it no longer. He snorted - very loudly. Frodo's belittling eyes turned to that of surprise - 'What on earth. . .? What's so funny?'  
  
A hand slapped over his own mouth, Bilbo finally withdrew a large breath. Once his amusement had been subdued, he coughed and straightened out his red vest as to regain his dignity. "I'm sorry, nephew. . ." he apologized, the remnants of laughter still upon his lips and in his shimmering eyes. He folded his hands on the table before him, and stared fixedly at the lad. "So. . .do we have a deal, lad?"  
  
His fingers untwined about one another, then he extended his right hand forward, waiting to be shaken by the boy. Frodo stared at the outstretched hand, biting his lip in apprehension. Should he go along in Bilbo's childish game, or should he retain his dignity, as well as his sorrow? The silence weighing heavily upon his shoulders, the tweenager did not so much as blink.  
  
Sighing softly, Bilbo set his arm once more upon the table, folding his hands thoughtfully. After another moment of silence passed, the hobbit leaned across the table, whispering quietly. "I know it's hard, Frodo-lad. . . But there is nothing that can be done about it. Your cousins will be good and well soon enough... You just wait - by the time you get back, they'll be bouncing off walls again, just like old times." Previously on the brink of tears, Frodo hiccupped a laugh at this, even going as far as to smile. It was true, after all - his cousins did have the unfortunate reputation of bouncing off walls, and sometimes destroying household furniture in the process. Not knowing what else to do, the boy lowered his eyes to peer at the table's clean (as clean as can be expected of a bachelor, anyway) surface.  
  
A mischievous gleam crossing his eyes, Bilbo smiled inwardly and rose from his seat. "Well," he announced, "I must be off. Got to go work on that book some more." As he turned about, he was most amused by the glance he caught of Frodo, the lad's mouth hanging open in horror. Work on a book! Without letting *him* see it? It was almost too much to bear for the boy.  
  
"All right, all right!" Frodo cried out, his tone reflecting more desperateness than reluctance. "It is a deal!" Pushing his hands against the tabletop, Frodo nearly leaped from his seat. His excited hand cut through the air, radiating the earnest glow within the boy.  
  
Smiling broadly, Bilbo turned about. "A deal it is!" And with that, the pair shook hands, sealing their pact. 


	2. The Scare

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Two - The Scare  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
'Where to go, where to go. . .' Frodo wondered to himself vaguely. To go to the village was out of the question - the womenfolk were likely to prod him to death with inquiries. "Who are you?" they would probably ask if given ample opportunity. "Where are you from? Why do you smell funny? Do all people smell like that where you come from?" The lad rolled his eyes merely thinking about it - an action he reserved for the most ignorant of individuals.  
  
'Nosey people. . .'  
  
All right, he admitted, he was being stereotypical of people he had never met before. . . So? All of them were alike, anyhow. Here, Buckland, and every other place imaginable, most likely. . .  
  
Finally, his feet leading as opposed to his head, he found himself at a nice little spot indeed. Frodo stopped, taking in its subtle beauty. The rolling green hills dipped down, creating a sort of enclosed, miniature valley no more than ten feet deep. At the place where the two opposite row of hills converged, there lay a decently sized pond, the water supplied by a miniscule stream.  
  
Content with his surroundings for the first time in days, the lad smiled and walked down the slope a bit until his feet felt the plushest grass and clover he had ever seen before in his life. Exhaling happily, he almost immediately plopped down onto his rear, and stretched out, lying down in the mildly swaying grass. Closing his eyes a moment, taking in the serenity of it all, he looked up to watch the clouds pass casually by overhead.  
  
The bet with Bilbo completely put out of his mind, Frodo thought everything was perfect - all save for the sun beating down upon him. It was nearly high noon, and the clouds that had seemed so friendly to him only moments before appeared cowardly, all shirking away from the sun's might. Subject to the blistering heat of the great orb in the sky, the small breeze was of little comfort to the boy.  
  
An idea suddenly struck him - there was still the Bywater.  
  
"Of course!" he exclaimed, clearly beside himself with joy at the notion that ran through his mind. Within minutes, he had thrown off most of his clothing, save for his underpants. Only having to run down the grassy hill a short distance, he climbed up onto a large boulder bordering the pond, and leaped off its edge, pressing his knees to his chest while doing so. He plummeted through the air, twisting and tumbling all the while, until he finally crashed into the water, creating a sort of healthy splash in the process.  
  
Frodo was impressed with the size of the waves that stretched out across the pond as his head broke the surface. However, he noted that they were in no comparison to the waves he made when he swung off the rope hanging from a tree limb at the banks of the Brandywine. His cousin Merry had helped him put it up there. . .  
  
The tweenager sighed morosely to himself, swishing his arms in the water as to stay afloat. 'Don't fret about it, Frodo,' he told himself. 'Before you left, Merry himself - as sick as he was - told you to have a good time while you were here, and he promised to give you a good thrashing if you didn't!' Frodo couldn't help but snicker at the thought of his little cousin - who was a good fourteen years his junior, need I remind you - pummeling him to the point that one could honestly call it a "good thrashing."  
  
When the snickers and giggles had subsided, the boy blinked, the sunlight creating a sharp white glow as its light bounced off the Bywater's surface. 'Ack. . .this light's going to kill my eyes,' Frodo thought, running a dripping hand over his aching eyes. Another idea coming to him, he heaved in a deep breath, and dove down into the cool bottoms of the pond.  
  
The icy water made the Baggins' skin tingle, but he emphatically admitted that the preferred the water's touch to that of the sun's. The sun, in its present condition, created great discomfort, but the water was like a silken blanket, wrapping itself about the boy and gently caressing his bare arms, legs, and chest. Maneuvering himself almost entirely on his pumping legs, his arms occasionally waved and pushed him forward. It was all so tranquil until. . .  
  
KERRR-PLUNK!  
  
A swarm of bubbles appeared as something heavy hit the water. Jerking back in surprise, Frodo noted how - whatever it was - had come within an inch of smashing into his head. The wide-eyed hobbit hovered in the water for a moment, allowing for the bubbles to diminish. When they did, a large brown thing appeared. . .  
  
'A. . .*bucket*. . .? What on earth?. . .'  
  
A pair of feet appeared, ankle-deep in water, standing at arm's distance behind the bucket. Frodo narrowed his eyes, and as the feet plodded nearer to the wooden basin, the tweenager planted his feet upon the slick pebbles that covered the creek's bottom, and rose defiantly out of the water.  
  
He visibly startled the lad that appeared before his eyes, the tweenager proving to be about twice his height - as well as age. The younger of the two had both his thick arms wrapped about the yet-to-be-filled water bucket, clutching the possession to his chest. His abnormally broad shoulders were rigid with fright, especially with the added factor of his short stature when compared to the Baggins.  
  
A lily pad rested upon Frodo's head, showering his eyes and face with additional water. The rest of him dripped as well, and his hands slick with the water, he placed them upon his underpants-covered hips. Unaware of the other boy's horror, the irritated lad voiced his complaint of nearly being bucketed in the head.  
  
"Watch it there. . .!"  
  
This was simply too much for the other boy to bear. Dropping the bucket back into the pond with stiff arms, his wide hazel eyes - if possible - grew larger. He heaved in a mighty breath and shouted for all the life in him. . .  
  
"MONSTER!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"  
  
Before the stunned Frodo could make any sort of reply, the other hobbit did a full one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn, and ran off faster than one would expect of such stout little legs. Screaming all the while, the petrified boy quickly disappeared over the hill.  
  
The tweenager's mouth fell open, forgetting the lily pad that so elegantly added to his given wardrobe. Pond water continued to drip down his chin, as well as his other limbs, the lad's shock no more stopping time as it did water.  
  
"Well. . .I *never*. . ." 


	3. Bagshot 3 Row

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Three - Bagshot 3 Row  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
The backyard of Bagshot 3 Row was all but quiet, about half the family out of doors on such a beautiful day. Having no fear of intruders of any sorts, it was never fenced off. The only division with the land itself and the backyard was the beginning and ending of grass (the Gaffer preferred keeping grass from growing in his yard, just in case another addition to the family required an expansion of the vegetable garden).  
  
Hamfast Gamgee himself was kneeling over the family's modest vegetable garden, working his small shovel with experienced hands. On the other end of the yard were two stooped over boys - Hamson and Halfred. They were engaged in a game of marbles - trinkets they had most likely received at a more well to do boy's birthday party (as the Hobbit tradition was in giving your guests presents as opposed to receiving them). Marigold Gamgee, the youngest of the three daughters of Hamfast, sat in the middle of the yard. . .well. . .how should I explain this?. . .  
  
Marigold, wearing her favorite red-and-white sundress, squatted on the ground. Her arms bent at the elbows, and her hands pressed against her armpits, she masterfully created the perfect imitation of her beloved Arnold.  
  
'Who is Arnold?' you might ask. Well. . .  
  
"Quack!"  
  
Ah, yes. Arnold was Marigold's precious baby duck, having been caught by Hamfast and Halfred one day when they went fishing. It was most unwilling to move into Bagshot 3 Row, but before he knew it, he was part of the family.  
  
His feathers were a beautiful shade of golden-yellow, still wonderfully soft with newborn down. This aspect of him made him a prized possession amongst Marigold's older brothers - Sam included. More than once she had caught them sleeping with Arnold pressed between their cheeks and the pillow, so admiring of the soft feathers that they simply could not part! Marigold had spent many a morning scorning her brothers for this in hopes of training them to remember that "ducks are people too."  
  
She had succeeded up to a certain point. . .  
  
Arnold's little orange beak opened widely, revealing a small red tongue inside. For no apparent reason (wait a minute - he's a duck; he doesn't *need* a reason. . .), Arnold turned about and began waddling awkwardly across the dirt granules.  
  
"Quack. . ."  
  
Poking out her rear in much the same fashion that Arnold did, Marigold waddled after him, flapping her "wings" all the while. "Quack. . ." she imitated.  
  
Taking off at a run, Arnold opened his tiny wings, his little black eyes shining with the instinct of flight. "Quack!" he cried out, excited by the wind that flowed about his speeding body.  
  
Marigold waddled all the faster. "Quack!"  
  
Suddenly stopping, Arnold turned about. Holding her breath in astonishment, Marigold halted as well. For a long moment, they stared at one another. Then, Arnold rushed forward.  
  
"QUACK!"  
  
"Aaah!" Marigold plopped onto her rear, then blinked in surprise at her pet. ". . .Silly duck. . ."  
  
The duckling cocked his head to the side, baffled. "Quack. . .?"  
  
A pounding of footsteps became audible, pushing down on the spongy grass as the being approached. Hamson and Halfred looked up from their marble game, but other than that, everyone carried out their regular business.  
  
After a matter of seconds, a sweating sandy-haired boy appeared. Face contorted with panic, he panted exhaustingly, and nearly tripped as he recovered from accidentally stepping upon the duck. The bird moved aside, rolling wildly to pick itself up again.  
  
"Quack!!" he cried out indignantly.  
  
"Oh. Sorry, Arnold!" the boy called back over his shoulder. It was only at this time that Hamfast looked up from his gardening.  
  
"Sam-lad!" he announced. His son walked up to him in a dizzy fashion, looking as though he were ready to fall. Hamfast set down his shovel, making ready to catch the lad if this should happen, but Samwise regained his balance. "Sam-lad," Hamfast began again, "what happened?"  
  
Sam thrust a thumb back over his shoulder. "B. . .B. . .Bywater!" he finally gasped. "What about Bywater?" "M. . .M. . ." "Deep breaths, son. . ." Hamfast said, about to rise to his feet and steady the boy, but his other two sons beat him to it. Each cupped one of Sam's shoulders in their hands, Hamson on his left and Halfred on his right.  
  
"M. . .M. . .Monster!" Sam finally breathed. Hamson's eyebrows arched up critically, but a sly grin crossed Halfred's lips.  
  
"Oh?" the Gaffer inquired, disbelief in his tone. "A monster, eh?. . ."  
  
"It's *true*!" Sam cried out, looking from one face to another for any support whatsoever. He received none. "He. . .he *spoke* even!!"  
  
The mischievous expression on Halfred's face grew immensely at this. "And what did he say?" Halfred bent over, and his left arm beneath the small of his kid brother's back and the other hooked about Sam's right leg, he picked him up. "Did he just so happen to say. . .'Mmmm. . .Hobbit for dinner. My *favorite*!'?" Halfred burst into a series of eating sounds, pressing his face into Sam's stomach to paint the entire picture of the supposed "Monster of Bywater."  
  
Sam was less than amused by this mockery. Ordering his brother to set him down, he repeatedly kept on bringing up his hanging left knee in hopes of bopping Halfred in the head.  
  
As Hamson did his best to stifle his laughter, the Gaffer looked as though he were inclined to explode. "Halfred. . ." he growled, "put yer brother down. . .*now*. . ." Halfred lifted his gaze from his brother's stomach, and fear visible in his eyes, he set Sam back down on the ground. Pushing the thought of vengeance out of his mind, the youngest Gamgee boy continued to force his case upon open ears.  
  
"I *saw* a monster!" he announced once more.  
  
Lowering her eyebrows in annoyance of having her pet nearly trampled over, Marigold scooped a somewhat irritated Arnold into her palms. "Daddyyy," she whined, "Sam's being weird agaaaain. . ."  
  
"But it's the *truth*!" Sam hollered, lifting his arms up toward the sky for assistance. Suddenly more clear-headed, the hobbit ignored the presence of his siblings (seeing as they weren't helping at all), and approached his father. Sam laid a hand down upon one of Hamfast's thick and suntanned arms.  
  
"Gaffer," he breathed, his hazel eyes shimmering, "I *saw* something down there. . . You *have* to believe me. . ." Hamfast met his son's eyes, and was amazed by how resolute they seemed. Though the man knew not what his son had been the witness of, the pure honesty that shown through the lad's eyes were almost convincing in themselves.  
  
After a long moment of silence, Hamfast gave a slight nod of his head and pressing a hand against his knee, stood up. "All right," he said quietly. "We'll go check it out."  
  
Nothing else at the time could have overjoyed Sam more. He jumped up and down with relieved happiness that if you could have done cartwheels, he very well might've. Hamson and Halfred exchanged astonished glances.  
  
Striding past the boys, the Gaffer entered the back of the smial, and came back out with an ax in hand. All was quiet, waiting for him to speak. Having initially planned to be vague about his thoughts, he realized now that an explanation was needed.  
  
". . .In the East, they've been havin' problems with wargs crossin' the Brandywine," Hamfast said, gravity in his voice. "It is unlikely that any have gotten this far West undetected, but I wouldn't be willin' to take any chances. . ."  
  
Fear appearing in their eyes, Hamson and Halfred rushed forward, gripping their father's arm pleadingly. "We'll go with you!" they cried out, distraught at the thought of leaving their father to defend himself against a creature as horrible as a beast-wolf. "We can help!"  
  
"I'll have none of this," came the gruff reply, shaking off the hands that clenched his arm. "Sam'll come with me to point out where he saw the brute" - Sam perked up at this, excited by this new concept that he was "old enough" to do something as daring and brave as this. "-And you two will stay here." The Gaffer suddenly lowered his voice, and creaking a bit with age, he put himself down on one knee to be eye-to-eye with his eldest sons. Putting the ax in his belt, he placed one gnarled hand on one of each boys' shoulders.  
  
"I'll be needin' you two to look after yer mother and sisters. If I should not come back, Hamson" - Hamson seemed to snap out of a daze at the mention of his name, and puffed up his chest; the Gaffer gave a solemn chuckle - "you're in charge. Don't let me down, boys."  
  
As trained as they were, Hamson and Halfred bit their bottom lips to force back any sudden outcries of emotion that should overwhelm them. To do such was to show their weakness. However, actions spoke louder than words, and the affectionate gleam in their eyes told what their lips could not.  
  
Smirking proudly at them, the Gaffer rose to his feet and ruffled the boys' unruly curls as lovingly as a father could. Sighing a bit to himself, he approached Marigold - who, by this time, had grown uncharacteristically quiet - and sensed that she knew what was going on. Frowning a bit, deciding what exactly he should do, he placed his hands upon his lips.  
  
A smile quickly took its place as an idea came to him. One strong hand beneath each of her arms, he heaved her up into the air, and tossed her up a bit. The action got the desired response - a long giggle. Smiling all the more, he pressed her to his chest a bit as to rearrange his arms a bit so that one arm acted as a sort of seat for her and the other was free.  
  
"You be a good little girl now," he said, placing a kiss he reserved for his "little princesses" upon her forehead, "you hear?" "Mmm-hmm," came the cooperative reply. His worn face smiled once more, but then faded as a duck was thrust into his face.  
  
"Kiss Arnold!"  
  
". . .What. . .?"  
  
Marigold grinned a toothy grin, and holding her duck as though he were a sandwich - one hand on each side, she pushed him into her father's face once more.  
  
"Arnold wants a kissy!"  
  
Hamfast looked up at her incredulously. "You want me. . .to kiss. . .*him*?" At this point, Arnold quacked as though he were offended by the Gaffer's resilience.  
  
"Oh, come on. . ." Marigold encouraged.  
  
"Isn't this more of a job for Mrs. Arnold. . .?"  
  
"*I'm* Mrs. Arnold!"  
  
"Then why don't *you*. . ." The Gaffer stopped mid-sentence, and looked deep into his daughter's fiery eyes. It struck him that he may be gazing into them for the very last time. 'What do you want her to remember?' he asked himself. 'How stubborn you were, or how much you loved your children? Hmm?'  
  
With a hint of resentment in his face, Hamfast bent his head down, and - after the briefest hesitation - planted a kiss onto the yellow back of Arnold. The duck quacked angrily, insulted by this indignation. In the Gaffer's eyes, it was as though the dumb little bird was crying out, "Ick! Get away from me, you wrinkly old man!!"  
  
"Hmph," Hamfast said, "same to you, ya little feather duster. . ."  
  
His eyes wide, Halfred whispered into Hamson's ear, "Um. . .why is he talkin' to a duck. . .?"  
  
After giving Marigold a quick little hug, Hamfast sat her down on her feet once more. Planting his hands strictly upon his hips, he called out to Hamson and Halfred, "If I catch *either* of you telling your mother about this. . ."  
  
"What will you do?" Halfred asked smartly. "*Kiss* us?"  
  
The Gaffer altered his gaze to Hamson, pointing to Halfred as he spoke. "If I don't come back to ring his little neck, you make sure to, all right?" A grand smile crossed Hamson's lips, thoroughly amused. "Yes, sir!"  
  
"Good. . ." Hamfast turned about and walked a ways, then called back over his shoulder. "Come, Sam-lad. . .let's go." Sam's feet refused to move at first, frozen by apprehension. But then, it was as if a warm summer rain had fallen upon him as - for the first time in years - he saw his father's clenched hand open, beckoning the lad to come over and slip his own hand into it.  
  
His fear melted away, Samwise ran up, and gripped onto his father's hand in admiration. 


	4. Monster-Hunting

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Four - Monster-Hunting  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
Bilbo was at the kitchen sink, scrubbing the spots off one of the white dining plates. Suds overflowed from the water basin that the dishes were in, so the hobbit had to take extra care as not to dip his hand in too hastily and withdraw a knife (at the wrong end, mind you). He continued scrubbing away as he heard the front door quietly creak open then snap shut behind the visitor. The elderly hobbit smiled to himself, and waited for the being to come into the kitchen before acknowledging his presence.  
  
When he was sure that the pair of feet now stood at the entrance of the kitchen, Bilbo spoke, "Well, well, it's good to see that you're back! While you were gone, I got to thinking, and I realized I did the silliest thing--" he bent over, so overcome with laughter at his own absentmindedness "-I realized that when we made our bet, we never decided what you would do if you los. . ." Bilbo turned around, and he halted his speech. Needless to say, he did not expect the sight that lay before his eyes. . .  
  
Frodo's brunette curls were a darker shade of brown than usual, having only been hastily shaken dry. The boy no longer yielded his lily pad, and assumabley had discarded it after the run-in at Bywater. He was now fully- dressed, but in places his white shirt stuck uncomfortably to his damp skin, having not taken the time nor energy to dry himself before putting on his clothes once more. The painting of the disturbed youth was finished with a somber expression upon his face.  
  
"Why, Frodo. . ." Bilbo said, his worry founded mostly by the boy's facial expression than anything else, "what happened. . .? Did you not find something to bring back?" It was superficial thing to ask, yes, but the hobbit could not imagine what else the tweenager could be so stunned over.  
  
For the longest time, blue eyes remained blank and unblinking, deep in thought and reflection. Finally, the lad withdrew something from behind his back. . .  
  
A water bucket.  
  
* * *  
  
"Stay right here. . ." Hamfast whispered, releasing the boy's hand. His son gulped apprehensively, but obeyed. The Gaffer walked out a bit into the water until he was ankle-deep in the pond. He eyed his surroundings, his hands set upon his hips, then tentatively sniffed the air.  
  
Hamfast had a practiced nose for deciphering different scents. Sam even went as far as to brag to the other hobbit lads and lasses (though it was usually only little Rosie Cotton that appeared interested at all by Sam's stories) that his father could tell the difference between a petunia and a snapdragon merely by the smell of their pollen.  
  
So, it was no wonder that Hamfast chose to try out his nose before doing anything else. He was all too familiar with the smell of "wet dog" (for which was the main reason why he never yielded to Hamson and Halfreds' pleas to ever get one), so his keen sense of smell knew exactly what it was looking for. Even a remnant hair drifting through the air could be the key.  
  
No such deciding factor existed. After smelling about for a good twenty minutes, the Gaffer stepped out of the water and began searching among the reeds, looking for some sort of footprint or other clue. There were no dead animals either. Coming back empty-handed, Hamfast towered over his son, his arms folded strictly.  
  
"Sam. . ." he began, his voice sounding strained, "there *was* no warg, was there. . .?"  
  
"Well," the boy said, dabbing a finger to his cheek thoughtfully, "I wouldn't rightly say that it was a *warg*, but it was definitely somethin'. . ." He received a hard glare from his father, so Sam decided to elaborate. He lifted a hand high over his head. "He was *ye* tall. . ." The lad compared his hand's height, however inaccurate, to his father's, and realized the thing he saw hadn't been that tall after all. . . "W- well," Sam stammered, cupping two hands about his eyes, "he had *huge* eyes, the color of water. Like a ghost even! And then there was that lily pad growing out of his head. . ."  
  
A heavy sigh emitted from Hamfast, and he shut his eyes for a moment as to remain calm. When he opened his eyes once more, Sam was peering up at him with a frown.  
  
"Sam-lad," the Gaffer spoke, "when you said that you saw somethin', I believed you. I was countin' on you to tell me the truth."  
  
"B-but. . .I *was* tellin' the truth. . ." Sam insisted, tears welling up in his eyes. He turned his gaze downward, watching as his right foot began making imaginary circles on the pebbles.  
  
Hamfast sighed once more. "Now, my boy, I can understand that you didn't want me to be mad about losing the water bucket - even though it was our only one. . ." Sam's eyes widened horrifically. He had completely forgotten about it!  
  
'Oh no. . .' Dread filled Sam's soul. His father was right; the bucket *had* been the only one they owned. Oh, how humiliated Hamfast will be when he has to ask to borrow someone else's. . .  
  
More than anything, Samwise wanted to burst into remorseful tears right then and there, but he knew it would only make things worse than they already were. Hamfast hated to see his children cry, and even went as far as to scold them when the boys were doing it. So, for the sake of himself and his father, he bit his bottom lip with all the strength left in him.  
  
". . .But you can't go 'round lyin'."  
  
"I *wasn't* lying though!" Sam countered weakly. "I. . .I saw a monster!"  
  
"Now, Sam," the Gaffer said, his voice becoming more strained with suppressed anger, "a man admits when he's made a mistake. No more of this monster nonsense."  
  
"It was big, and when I saw it, I dropped the water bucket. . . It might've eaten me if I'd given it the chance!"  
  
Hamfast's eyes narrowed venomously, his arms tensing about his chest. "I will have no more of this!" A silence ensued, angry vibes traveling through the air. Sam's face was flushed with frustration, then shame, and the Gaffer took this time to become calm once more. A small sigh from the man marked the end of the silence. "Sam. . .I'm afraid I can't trust you no more. Not with you lyin' like this."  
  
Hamfast turned away, but not in time to miss seeing his son's fallen face. The boy's arms hung limply at his sides, a crestfallen look in his eyes. Sam's heart broke and crumbled into pieces at the accusation.  
  
The very worst thing that could happen in his little world did - the boy lost his beloved father's trust. . . And that was much worse than any sort of punishment that anyone could ever inflict upon him. 


	5. Down From the Door Where It Began

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Five - Down From the Door Where It Began  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
"Do you suppose I'll see him again?" Frodo queried as he was pushed progressively out the front door. Bilbo held the boy's shoulder blades, and nodded his head heartily.  
  
"Yes, yes, I'm sure you will." Bilbo had been so enthused by the prospect of Frodo finding another lad (approximately his age), he had become convinced that the two could become friends if his nephew put in the effort. Frodo did not exactly share in the other's enthusiasm, having been mercilessly torn from his breakfast to be shoved out the door.  
  
"Oh yes, and here's the water bucket!" Bilbo exclaimed, running to the closet in the hall, and coming back quickly with the basin in hand. Frodo now stood on the doorstep, and blinked as the wooden object was thrust into his arms. The elder hobbit grinned. "Have a nice day!" Before the irritated Frodo could reply to this, the green door was slammed shut.  
  
The lad growled to himself, and begrudgingly turned from the door to venture down the walkway. "Kick me out of the house, why don't you. . ." he muttered aloud, taking a left turn at the road to find a place where he could have some time to himself.  
  
* * *  
  
"I'm going out now!" rung a boyish voice. The owner of it had already placed his hand upon the doorknob, a determined look in his eyes. On the other side of the room sat two older hobbits at the dining table, arguing over which famous hobbit was the first to invent mushroom soup - or if it had even been a hobbit at all!  
  
"I say it was a Dwarf," Halfred stated quite plainly. "Hobbits would sooner eat a mushroom whole than even stop to think about what kind of soups you could make out of it." Hamson, his debate opponent, held up a hand for silence. Looking past Halfred, the eldest of the Gamgee boys looked with great concern upon his youngest brother.  
  
"Sam," he said, ". . .*what* are you doing?  
  
Sam blinked back at him, his butterfly net snugly leaning against his shoulder. Wasn't it obvious?  
  
"I'm going to go catch meself a monster."  
  
Halfred nearly choked on his oatmeal, and leaned his face into it as to not show how hard he wished to laugh. Hamson shot a glare at him and gave him a sharp kick in the leg.  
  
"Why are you going to go and do that?" Hamson inquired of Sam.  
  
Sam's chest puffed up proudly. "So then no one can call me a liar! . . . I'll be back in time for supper." And with that, the monster-catcher departed.  
  
Halfred stifled a snicker with his hand, but Hamson's eyes remained glued to the closed door. "Do you think. . ." Hamson mused, worry shining in his eyes, "we should follow him? What if there *is*. . .something. . .?" The elder turned his eyes to his brother, hoping to find a hint of empathy in his face.  
  
There was only skepticism. Halfred sat up straight, rolling his shoulders back. "Oh, c'mon, Ham. That monster is *just* as non-existant as. . .well. . .uh. . ."  
  
A figure shot up between the two chairs. A girl smiled cheekily. "Your brain?" Halfred gave her a sour glare, and Hamson could not help but laugh.  
  
"G'mornin', Daisy," Hamson greeted his sister politely, as his time of formal occasions with the opposite gender was drawing near, and his mother insisted that he practiced being. . .uh. . .civil? Was that the right word?  
  
"Mornin'." A mischievous glint in her eyes, Daisy draped one arm around each other her brothers' shoulders. She smiled. "To think. . .for four whole years, it was just the three of us. Both of you and me. . ." She then snapped her head to the side to stare fixedly at Halfred. "Why was it again that I haven't killed you yet?" Narrowing his eyes, Halfred shook off his sister's arm. Then a smirk crossed his lips.  
  
"Maybe it's 'cause you *can't*. . ." he poked. Daisy set her hands on her hips, amused by this new challenge.  
  
"Oh? If so, I'm sure Father and Ham would be more than willing to help me. . ."  
  
Halfred barked out a laugh, and fed himself another spoonful of oatmeal. "Heh, *right*. . . Anyway, I'm their favorite."  
  
No longer able to contain themselves, all three of them burst out laughing. Halfred was well aware of his ability to rub people the wrong way, but his siblings and parents knew that deep down, he really did care about others and their troubles. He simply covered his worry with humor.  
  
Daisy chuckled, and shook her head so that her blondish curls gleamed in the sunlight filtering in through the window. She disappeared into another part of the smial, going back to work on whatever new project she had made for herself.  
  
"Honestly, Hal," Hamson breathed, clapping a hand onto his brother's shoulder as he finished recovering from his fit, ". . .I think we'll all be very grateful when you find yourself a lady-hobbit." He smiled, and Halfred returned the gesture. ". . .Poor, unsuspecting lass. She doesn't know what she's in for!"  
  
"Why, you. . ." Halfred sneered, unsuccessfully trying to force back the cackle that threatened to escape him. His eyes dancing with mirth, he sounded a battle cry and tackled his brother out of the chair he was sitting in. They proceeded to roll about as though engrossed in some sort of warfare, but their laughter betrayed the harsh appearance of it. 


	6. A New Sort of Company

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Six - A New Sort of Company  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
Author's Note: Started school yesterday.birthday's tomorrow.yuh-huh. Inspiration hasn't quite struck me yet, so it's a good thing that this was already written before I started school again. @__@ Enjoy - it's the chapter everyone's been waiting for!  
  
Frodo exhaled in satisfaction, closing his eyes and allowing the wind to blow through his hair and grace his face with its touch. Despite the green hills that surrounded the location on all sides, the long blades of grass in this particular meadow were golden. The lad did not mind it, and if anything, liked this new change of pace. He had taken a seat beneath the shade of a tree, leaning back against his unfolding arms, his drawn-up shoulders nearly touching his cheeks. His legs lay strewn out before him, and he merely enjoyed the tranquility of this new place.  
  
"Ah. . .not a person in the world. . ." he whispered, a smile crossing his lips. It was so peaceful. . .  
  
WHOOSH!  
  
Frodo heard the sound after something fell over his face - a network of strings tied together. His eyelids snapped open, and he found himself staring through small white boxes.  
  
"Aha!" a voice cried out. "I *caught* ya!!"  
  
Frodo blinked, and saw that the thing over his head was, indeed, a net. A small one at that - not even the kind that one catches fish with. A brown pole extended from the net, and was held by.  
  
"YOU. . .!"  
  
"I *knew* you talked! They didn't believe me!" the boy shouted, half out of excitement and half out of resentment to his family members.  
  
The shock faded from Frodo's face, and annoyance took its place. He glared angrily at his captor.  
  
"Now," the little hobbit announced, "Mr. Monster, now, I'm goin' to have to show you to me Gaffer, so if you would, you could come right along with me. . ." He turned about, pulling the net along with him, expecting the other to follow suit.  
  
Frodo's glare sharpened, and with a flick of his fingers, the net went sailing off his head. The other boy turned about, and gaped in surprise.  
  
"How did you escape?! W. . .W. . .What *are* you?" The boy seemed to cower in fright, afraid of what the freed monster might do to him. After all, monsters *eat* hobbits.!  
  
Frodo's eyes softened somewhat, but he was still ticked, and his voice reflected it. "Rather easily, I must say. . ." He paused, pondering how to answer the second question. The questions he had imagined that the lady hobbits in the village would ask him suddenly came back to mind. Eyeing the boy curiously, he figured, 'Oh, he's probably just as nosey as they are. . .' He drew a deep breath before answering,  
  
"I'm Frodo, I'm from Buckland, I know I smell, and no, not everyone smells like I do in Buckland."  
  
Silence fell upon the meadow, and the Baggins thought that the other lad might be stunned by this answer. However, a very blank look remained on the boy's face.  
  
". . .I'm Sam, and my mum says that, after I take me bath like I'm supposed to, I smell like angels."  
  
This was all that was needed to break the ice. The discomfort immediately melted away, and Sam went as far as to take a seat beneath the tree as well. So, for the longest time, the two hobbits discussed one of the universe's greatest mysteries - what did angels smell like?  
  
"Peach blossoms," Frodo declared.  
  
"Flowers," Sam countered, smiling fondly at the memory of his father's flowers in the springtime.  
  
"My mum." Frodo immediately regretted these words, and bit his bottom lip. He did not want to take that route of conversation. . .  
  
Sam stared at him a minute, then after blinking his eyes once, a wide smile crossed his round face. "All mums smell pretty, don't they?" Frodo sighed internally with relief, thankful that the lad did not bother to probe about Primula Baggins. Samwise continued, unaware of his companion's unspoken gratitude, "I think mums have to smell pretty or they don't get to be mums!"  
  
Frodo chuckled heartily at this. "Perhaps, Sam. . . .And maybe dads don't get to be dads if they don't tell the mums that they smell pretty!" Both giggled incessantly at this notion, only to find out years later that they were, indeed, closer to the truth about married couples than they thought.  
  
As it is with youngsters, the conversation took a sharp turn, traveled ten feet, and stopped upon the topic of songs.  
  
"I hear that Elves sing real pretty songs," Sam said, his eyes twinkling with wonder. "How I'd like to meet an Elf someday. . .a singin' Elf even!" Frodo smiled at the boy.  
  
"Ah, maybe you will someday." A pause. "Well, Sam. . .I don't know any Elven songs, but I know another one, if you'd like to hear it. . ." Frodo blushed a bit at Sam's joyous outburst - "Oh, yes, please do! I'd love to hear you sing!" The elder of the two couldn't help but chuckle as the Gamgee folded his hands in his lap and began bouncing excitedly, impatiently awaiting the song.  
  
"All right, all right, Sam. . ." Frodo coaxed, the smile upon his lips refusing to fade. "I'll sing for you. . ."  
  
The song that Frodo chose to share was one that was very close to his heart, having first heard it when he was reluctant to fall asleep at night in his crib. His mother had made it up just for him, and the first time he ever sung it to anyone else was a few days before when one of his little female cousins cried and wouldn't settle down into sleep. Even then, the words felt foreign to his lips, having mostly only heard it rather than sung it. However, a memory laid deeply embedded into his soul - that of the first night after the Accident. He had sung that song to himself. . .he hadn't even finished it when he began crying endlessly into his pillow once more.  
  
But, now, he knew that the remnants of his mother - even both of his parents - needed to be shared with others, so that they might cherish it as he did. So, he sang. . .  
  
"Baby bird, Open up your wings and fly Baby bird, If you wanted to, you could soar high Baby bird, Sing your lovely melodies Baby bird, Please give your songs to me. . ."  
  
Frodo's lips pressed together in foreboading. 'Please don't laugh at me.' he silently begged. He watched the other's features very closely, ready to shrink at the smallest hint of mocking laughter. Nothing was said for the longest time, and Sam stared wide-eyed at him.  
  
". . .That was beautiful," Sam whispered, his eyes shining with sincerity. Frodo breathed an internal sigh of relief for the second time that day. The tweenager's heart thanked him many times over for not bringing forth any harm to it, and though this gratitude was never spoken of in their lifetimes, their mutual understanding of each other shined through like a beam of light on a cloudy day.  
  
Sam knew not what it meant to Frodo to have said that, but in his heart, he knew it was the right thing to say.  
  
Smiling, Sam continued, "It sounds like something an Elf might sing." Frodo's face beamed at this, not so much for the compliment in it, but because of his amusement; he chose *not* to tell the other lad that Elves sing in *Elvish*, as opposed to the Common Tongue.  
  
His brow lowering, the younger spoke, "Hm. . .I wish I had a pretty song to give to you. . ." He cupped his hand over his chin, thinking long and hard. Frodo, still sitting up in the same position he had been before the episode with the butterfly net, smiled once more at the other's deep concentration. Finally, Sam lifted his head from his hand, a look of approval with his decision upon his face.  
  
The song he was about to sing was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in the fashion of rhymes. From the depths of his soul, he wanted to share with the other lad his affection for this song. He had only heard it from the finest gentlehobbits that ever came to live in Hobbiton. . .  
  
Swinging his right arm to the beat as many did during the song's duration, Sam sung unbeatably, "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beeeeeer!"  
  
Frodo roared with laughter, wrapping his arms tightly about his midsection in pain from doing so in such an overwhelming manner. His eyes beginning to wet from his incessant crowing, his knees came to his chest and he rolled back, laughing still all the more.  
  
Sam continued his song, seemingly unaware of his companion's condition. "Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the waaaall.!" 


	7. Time Apart

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Seven - Time Apart  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
Author's Note: Aww, you guys are such sweethearts. . . (Shirebound, watch out, you just may make me cry here. . .) Thank you for the sweet reviews, and the birthday wishes. You guys are so sweet! I'm so happy that all of you are enjoying this tale as much as I did writing it (sorry to steal your line, Shirebound). ~_^  
  
The pair talked long into the afternoon, but it wasn't until the sun was nearing the horizon that the chatting boys realized exactly how much time had passed. Alarmed, Sam leaped to his feet. "I told me brother that I'd be back by suppertime!" he shouted, running panicked hands through his hair.  
  
'What to do, what to do. . .!'  
  
Frodo blinked up at him, then withdrew an item from behind his back. "Well, before you go, I think you should have this back." He placed the wooden bucket in the younger hobbit's hands, and a flicker of calm crossed the boy's youthful face.  
  
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Frodo," Sam spoke, momentarily forgetting his situation a moment. "This one 'ere is the only one we have too. . ." He stared down into the empty basin, and only snapped out of his daze when Frodo said, "Um. . .supper. . .?"  
  
"Oh, oh!!" Swiveling his head about, trying to decide if he should go straight home or to the pond to get some water, he decided that Bywater should best be visited first, as his Gaffer was going to be mad at him anyhow. Might as well have something to bring back if he was already going to be in trouble. . .!  
  
Putting the butterfly net over his shoulder, the Gamgee held the bucket on his hip and ran as quick as his feet could carry him across the meadow, and into the shadows of the setting sun. Frodo opened his mouth to bid farewell, but before he was given the chance, the boy was already out of hearing distance. He stretched back out again, sighing forlornly to himself.  
  
'Just great.' he thought hopelessly. 'I finally make a friend, and he lives off over. . .*that* way. . .' The boy had no idea what villages lied in that particular direction, but he felt confident in the assumption that his newfound companion was not from Hobbiton. He sighed to himself once more, casting his eyes sadly to the ground.  
  
'Just my luck. . .'  
  
* * *  
  
Suppertime at the Gamgees carried on normally enough. . .with a few minor exceptions.  
  
Everyone sat down at the dinner table, a modest white tablecloth draped over it. The food was already set out and ready to dish up, but as the bowls were being passed about around the table, a little waddling yellow creature made its way across the tabletop.  
  
"Quack. . ."  
  
As if instinctively, Arnold scuttled straight over to the Gaffer. He then waddled right into the center of his empty plate, nestled down into it, and began pruning himself. Hamfast's face turned red with anger, his fists set next to the sides of his plate, a fork and a knife in hand.  
  
"*Marigold*, child. . ." he spoke as carefully as he could manage, his fury ready to boil over, "what did I tell you about ducks at the table. . .?"  
  
Marigold, seated on the other end of the table next to her mother, pouted her bottom lip. "But Arnold's no normal duck!"  
  
"Nor is this a normal *family*," Halfred whispered to Hamson, who gave him a quick elbow to the ribs. Halfred's lips contorted, doing his best to fight back an oncoming snicker.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mari," Hamfast sighed, oblivious to Halfred's jeer, "but we can't have a duck at the dinner table. . ."  
  
Halfred was much too quick with his own tongue. He intervened, "Yes, not unless we're going to ea--" Thankfully, Hamson's hand beat him to it, slapping over Halfred's mouth. Halfred blinked, and finished, "Ejsht jit. . ."  
  
The Gaffer shook his head at his son, but said, "Hamson, Halfred, Mr. Bilbo's nephew is visiting up from Buckland, and he's around your age. Maybe you could go over tomorrow and introduce yerselves?"  
  
May said it before anyone else had the chance to - "He's probably a snob."  
  
"May!" her mother scolded, and the girl stuck out her bottom lip.  
  
"It's *true*. . .!" she insisted, flashing her dark hazel eyes. "Mr. Bilbo's nice, but you know how rich he is. A nephew of his is *bound* to be spoiled. . ."  
  
"Enough of this," the Gaffer said, eyes narrowing. He altered his gaze to his two oldest sons. "Now, he *may* be well-off, but that's no excuse for dismissing him so quickly . . . He's just like any one of us."  
  
"I'm sorry, Father," Hamson objected weakly, his eyes lowered and his arms gripping the sides of his chair, "but May's right - he's a *Bucklander.* We're from Hobbiton. How could he ever be like us?"  
  
Hamfast was just about to glare his infamous glare, but then arched his eyebrows in suspicious curiosity. Slowly, the Gamgee family turned their heads to one sole being. . .  
  
Sam rocked back and forth in his chair, his eyes lowered to his empty plate. Humming a tune loudly to himself, he was blissfully unaware of the seven pairs of eyes that bore into him. Whatever song he was wordlessly singing to himself, his body moved in sync to it.  
  
Somehow sensing the piercing gazes of his family members, the boy arched an eyebrow, then peeked up with one eye. Coming eye-to-eye with each one of them, he finally lifted both his eyes and blinked, a baffled expression upon his face.  
  
". . .What?. . ."  
  
* * *  
  
Smiling merrily after having his fill, Sam plopped down onto his bed and bounced excitedly upon it. He wore his sleeping garments, in essence a large white long-sleeved shirt that went down to his calves. Eagerly awaiting his mother's goodnight kiss, the lad's beaming face lit up even the darkest corners of the room.  
  
Unlike most boys his age, Sam did not room with his elder brothers. They - Hamson and Halfred - proved to be much too old, and - in some instances - too rough to be sharing the same living space with their kid brother. Therefore, although some thought it queer, he shared the same room with his sisters, of which they found to be a blessing in disguise.  
  
The girls left vulnerable by the absence of the candles in the middle of the night, they had often become victim to a gnawing fear. There were the monsters beneath the beds, the disgruntled spirits in the closet, as well as the orcs in the hall. Though all were imaginary, they were very real in their hearts - until their guardian came.  
  
Samwise quickly became titled as the Protector of the Realm (Of Girls), and was oftentimes their knight in shining armor. Whatever foe needed vanquishing, or fears dispelled, he was the man for the job. Many a sleepless night had been spent with Sam smoothing out the locks of one of his weepy sisters (his older ones included) as she recalled a frightening nightmare she had awoke from. Like a minstrel floods notes over his listeners, his hugs rained immediate comfort over them, allowing them to drift back into a peaceful sleep. The lad's stout heart and sweet demeanor made him the perfect candidate for the position.  
  
. . .Who cares that two-thirds of the members of the Realm were taller than he was?  
  
A graceful form took a seat at the foot of Sam's small bed. She folded her arms in her lap, smiling fondly at the boy. She was of the kind that "smelt pretty," as Samwise had so eloquently put it earlier that same day.  
  
"Sam-darling," she whispered, her voice sounding as though the birds sung their songs merely to please her, "you seem so happy lately. . ." She placed a hand down on the covers, and leaned forward a bit as though taking part in a secret she did not want anyone else to hear about. "Did you make a new friend?"  
  
Sam did his best to look stern (when, in actuality, he was beaming on the inside), and crossed his arms matter-of-factly over his chest. "Well, I *did* meet someone.but it wouldn't be proper to call him my friend *yet*." A sparkle filled his hazel eyes, and his mother could not help but chuckle.  
  
"Oh, you silly goose!" she teased playfully, poking at his knee tenderly. "Why isn't it proper for you to call him your friend yet?" She looked deep into the boy's eyes, as though her world was stopped momentarily, and focused entirely upon him. Sam smiled to himself, placing his chin in his hands. He loved it when his mother did this; it always made him feel so special and important.  
  
"Because," Sam said, "I have to *ask* him first. . . . I can't just go around calling him my friend when he doesn't even know about it!" Mrs. Gamgee smiled her lovely smile - the one that probably won the Gaffer's heart in the first place - and shook her head.  
  
"Oh, I doubt that. But, do as you wish. . ." She planted a tender kiss upon her son's forehead. "Sleep well, dearest."  
  
"You too, Mum. . ." His eyes conveying all the happiness that he felt within his soul, he allowed for his mother to tuck his blanket up around his chin. Whispering as his mother did, he said, "I love you, Mum. . ."  
  
The woman giggled a bit, and gave her son another kiss - this time on the cheek. "I love you too, dear. G'night."  
  
"G'night."  
  
And with that, the boy slipped into a deep sleep, filled with pleasant dreams of all things wonderful in life - Elves, gardening, and his new playmate. 


	8. A Day Out

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Eight - A Day Out  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
Author's Note: There's only two more chapters after this - sorry, folks! I hope you've enjoyed this though. Also, I didn't realize I've been being so vague about my personal life. . . Well, for what it's worth, I've been INSANELY busy, clutching onto the delightful jagged cliff known as "Grades." Yep, "Grades" (kind of has a "Caradhras" feel to it, don't you think?). Also, I've been spending most of my writing energy on essays for English Honors and for the school newspaper (hey, I wrote an article about Lord of the Rings - isn't that worth something? o_O). I'm not sure how much more time I'll be able to spend writing fanfics, but I'm doing the best I can. All of your support is much appreciated at this time! Thank you, everyone. =)  
  
"Oh, hi, Sam!"  
  
Sam yelped, jumping a good foot into the air. He had spent much of that morning searching about the meadows for his companion, and finally giving up, he decided to go get a bit of a drink at Bywater. Seeing Frodo *next* to the pond would have been big enough a surprise, but seeing him *in* the water. . .  
  
"Frodo, Frodo!" Sam shrieked, forgetting all formality in his panic. "Get out of the water, get out of the water!!"  
  
". . .Why?"  
  
Sam swiveled his head about, then scrambled up the biggest rock in sight. He pulled a reed from the ground, and clinging to the rock's surface, he reached out his arm with the reed. "Grab on!"  
  
Frodo could have quite easily taken hold of the plant, but he merely stared dumbfounded at it. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to look at Sam quizzically, his head cocked to the side.  
  
"I ask again. . .why?"  
  
"You'll drown!!"  
  
". . ."  
  
Finally smiling, Frodo laid out on his back and pushed his foot against the rock, pushing him through the water (A/N: he's wearing his underpants again, just so you know. . .). He lifted his arms toward the sky, and in a great circular motion, wafted through the pond. His toes were pointed forward, and his feet pushed against the water as wings do air. The boy was a graceful swimmer indeed.  
  
Sam's mouth hung open, not quite sure what to make of this. Wasn't Frodo supposed to sink? What was wrong with this here?  
  
"How. . ." Sam whispered, still recovering from his shock, "how do you do that?"  
  
"Oh, it's easy," Frodo assured him. Another smile crossed his lips. "Maybe I'll even show you sometime."  
  
The Gamgee sniffed his nose, and turned away, folding his arms firmly over his chest. "Hobbits weren't meant to swim."  
  
Frodo stopped pedaling and stood up in the water, the surface circling about his neck. He rubbed his toes thoughtfully against the smooth pebbles that outlined the bottom of the pond. "What makes you say that?"  
  
"Me Gaffer."  
  
The elder boy - despite the short time that he had known Sam - had become well versed in what the Gaffer thought about certain things. It seemed that whatever Frodo liked, the Gaffer had a couple things to say about it. . .  
  
"As me Gaffer always says," Sam started up again, "'If Hobbits were meant to swim, they would've sprouted gills.'"  
  
Frodo bent his head forward and laughed - not in mockery, but from being entertained. When he had regained his normal breathing patterns, he gasped, "Oh, maybe you're right. . . Haven't found any gills on me yet. I knew there was something wrong. . ." He ran a hand down the side of his neck, pretending to search for the lost characteristic. It was Sam's turn to laugh.  
  
"Well," Sam finally admitted, "I *suppose* it won't do any harm if you swim a bit, seeing as you know how. . ."  
  
For a time, Frodo swam some more, making the occasional show of himself as to suggest his many years of swimming experience. Having been practically born in the water - thanks to his Brandybuck mother, his fluid movements were reminiscent of that of a swan or a not-so-ugly fish. Sam folded his knees to his chest, and holding onto his ankles, watched in both awe and apprehension.  
  
Mid-day came about, and the sun melted away Sam's worry and replaced it with a slight case of jealousy. Rubbing the back of his burnt neck painfully, Sam regretted that he wasn't an "odd hobbit" as well, and knew how to swim. But nothing could be done about it, the boy inevitably decided. Rolling up his breeches, he took a walk about the outer edge of the pond, never going more than two inches into the water. The water was cool, and in it being so, froze the jealousy that had grown in Sam's heart.  
  
He was content with the way things were.  
  
Bored of swimming on his back, Frodo began dog-paddling through the water. He immediately stopped, however, when he became face to face with something small. . .and yellow. . .  
  
". . .Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"  
  
Sam's mouth fell open, stunned by the sight before his eyes. Frodo, screaming and paddling backward wildly, thrashing about in the pond and sending spray everywhere. And Arnold wading nearer to shore, seemingly oblivious by the fright he had apparently given the elder hobbit. Now returning to his senses, Sam narrowed his eyes and approached the duck, scooping him up into his hands by the time he was knee-deep in water.  
  
"You *naughty* duck!" he scolded the little bird. "What were you trying to do - run away from home?"  
  
"Quack!"  
  
Samwise growled beneath his breath, and pressed the duckling to his chest with one hand in a sort of hasty hold. He called out to Frodo, "Sor-"  
  
"SAMWISE GAMGEE!!"  
  
". . .ry. . ."  
  
A large form dashed past him, sending up large drops of water as he splashed through the surf. Frodo stared at the nearing man wide-eyed, and just about as he was beginning to swim away from the furious hobbit, a gnarled hand gripped his shoulder. Though the man was waist-deep in water, he had no trouble lifting the boy out of the water and placing him to his hip like a sack of potatoes.  
  
Sam began shaking violently, horror creeping through his soul. Muttering words of rage and fury beneath his breath, the Frodo-toting man approached the boy. "Samwise!" he shouted again. "We're going home - NOW!" Sam gulped.  
  
They had been caught - and it was only the beginning. . . 


	9. Trial and Verdict

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Nine - Trial and Verdict  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
They sat in two of the dining chairs - the prisoners. They sat in the middle of the living room, seemingly isolated. These were their judgment seats, awaiting their verdict.  
  
Quietly, as to not encourage or scorn the boys before the man of the house made his decision, Bell Gamgee wrapped a large towel around the dripping Frodo. The lad accepted it, though it was the much despised color of dark pink. As he resumed his seat once more, his face turned to the color of the towel, seeing three curly heads poke through a door to watch him curiously. To his utter embarrassment, they were the three sisters of Sam, staring at him like a. . .like a. . .boy only wearing his underpants!  
  
Frodo lowered his eyes, ashamed not only to be wearing a pink towel and having three pairs of female eyes staring at him, but to have been caught entirely. He had gotten away with much more back in Buckland - even stealing from Farmer Maggot (up to a certain point). How could he have been caught *swimming*?  
  
His eyes staring at the floor that his feet could not yet touch while sitting in a chair, Sam twiddled his thumbs nervously in his lap. The fluffy - and now dry - form of Arnold waddled about his lap, playfully nipping at the bottom of the boy's shirt. Sam was in no mood to entertain the duck, however, so he bounced off his lap - and after landing most unceremoniously onto the floor - he scuttled across the floor and slipped through the ajar door that the girls were peeking through. The door snapped shut a moment later as Hamfast appeared once more, a grim look upon his face.  
  
His hands folded somberly behind his back, the man stood before them and shifted his gaze from one to the other. He decided to start with the stranger.  
  
"I frankly have no idea who you are," he said gruffly, "but you have no business bein' in a waterhole. You could've gotten yerself killed!" Frodo kept his blue eyes upon the floor, refusing to tear them away to look up into the man's angry face. Hamfast grunted in displeasure and turned to his son.  
  
"And you. . .I thought I had taught you better than that!" Samwise sniffled, his eyes brimming with tears.  
  
"I. . .I know. . ." he stammered, his fists turning white as they twisted about each other.  
  
The man's anger got the better of him. "I *told* you that swimmin's dangerous! Why did you let him go swimmin' anyway?" Frodo decided to intervene at this point.  
  
"I've swam all my life, sir," he said, finally lifting his gaze to meet the man's. "And I told him that I could swim. He tried to get me out of the water when he first saw me at the Bywater."  
  
Hamfast gave the tweenager a venomous glare. "Fine. But what if Sam here slipped in, when nobody else was around? What then?!"  
  
"I would've saved him, sir," Frodo replied, his voice staying amazingly cool. He and the man stared at each other for a long moment. "Besides," the boy said, "I've had plenty of practice in saving other people. For example, once my cousin Merry swallowed a turkey leg whole, and I was the one to make him pop it right out again!"  
  
Needless to say, this didn't inspire much confidence in the Gaffer. He opened his mouth to counter this claim, but a rap came to the door. He snapped his mouth back shut again, then said, "You two wait 'ere just one moment. . ." And with that, the man went to see who was there. The boys' eyes returned to the floor as an incomprehensible murmur of conversation flooded from the doorway. After a long while, two sets of feet could be heard making their way toward the pair.  
  
A new form appeared before them, conversing with Hamfast - Bilbo Baggins.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bilbo," Hamfast said with a sigh. "I didn't know this young man 'ere was yer kin. If I had've known, I wouldn't've."  
  
"No apologies needed, Hamfast," Bilbo assured him. He gave Frodo a glare out of the corner of his eyes, making the lad gulp. "If it had been me who found him, I would've done the same." After some more discussion, both men folded their hands behind their backs and turned to their charges.  
  
"I suppose you two haven't been introduced as of yet," Bilbo said. "Frodo, this is Master Gamgee - our gardener." Frodo glanced at the man, and Sam shrunk in his seat, a surge of panic running through his veins. What would his new friend think of his social position - his gardener's son?  
  
"Really?" Frodo asked, a note of exuberance in his tone. "You mean they're not just visiting, and they don't live in some other village? . . . That's. . .that's *wonderful*!" The tweenager grinned, and Sam stared at him in shocked disbelief.  
  
Mr. Frodo didn't care.  
  
Bilbo halted a moment, also pleased that his charge had found a companion. However, he could not let the day's events slide completely. "Frodo," he scolded, "you shouldn't have given Master Gamgee such a scare. Why, if your Aunt Dinodas was here. . ." Frodo's eyes widened in horror - Dinodas was his mother's elder sister, and had a nasty reputation for dealing out the worst punishment that any growing boy could ever dream of receiving. Her disciplinary action was feared by all - even Bilbo himself, to a certain extent.  
  
"And Sam," Hamfast said, "what has been the matter with you lately? First conjurin' up stories about fanciful monsters, and now *this*. . ."  
  
"But it *wasn't* fanciful!" Sam cried out. He pointed a finger at Frodo. "I caught my monster!"  
  
'Don't you think you could've caught a prettier one?' Bilbo quipped jokingly, but decided it would be best not to be humorous with Hamfast in such a dangerous mood. . .  
  
The Gaffer's face furrowed with anger, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Boy," he seethed, "watch yer manners."  
  
"He's my monster though! The Monster of Bywater!"  
  
Frodo stared at him a moment, then catching on, he nodded his head furiously in Hamfast's direction. "It's true, sir. He caught me with a butterfly net and everything. . .!"  
  
Hamfast stood there a moment, thinking deeply. Deep blue eyes. . .tall. . .lily pad growing out of head. . . Everything suddenly added up. The man's eyes widened in shock, finally understanding.  
  
"Well, gracious me. . . Me boy's right. . ." was all he could manage to utter. Bilbo stared at his fellow enforcer, then seeing he was now on his own, he shook his head and heaved a small sigh.  
  
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but he did his best to conceal it. "Well, Frodo," Bilbo sighed, pretending to sound more disappointed than he really was, "I suppose I'll just have to come up with a decent punishment for you as your legal guardian."  
  
Frodo's eyes perked up at this, and he gazed at his uncle for the longest time. ". . .What?. . ." Bilbo finally allowed himself to smile, and withdrew a piece of parchment from his pocket and unrolled it. Frodo leapt to his feet, and watched as the writing appeared.  
  
"Seven signatures and all," Bilbo said. "It's official - you're my new adopted heir."  
  
A moment of silence passed, and Hamfast and his son exchanged glances. Frodo goggled at the parchment, but then lifted his gaze to stare deeply into Bilbo's eyes. To the elder hobbit's surprise, he found tears welling up within the boy's eyes.  
  
"I. . .I love you, Bilbo!" he finally exclaimed, wrapping his arms about the other hobbit. Bilbo laughed, and gave the boy a quick pat on the back before he ran out of his arms. A pink towel went flying through the air.  
  
Frodo ran up to Sam, screaming with joy, "Did you hear that?! Did you hear? I'm *adopted*, Sam!" Before the stunned boy had the chance to reply, Frodo linked their hands and began skipping about in a circle. "I'm adopted, I'm adopted!"  
  
The three heads appeared again, and while first blinking at the sight of the dancing boy in his undergarments, they giggled fitfully. They then swung open the door, and joined hands and began dancing in a circle as well.  
  
"He got adopt-ed, he got adopt-ed!" they chanted enthusiastically, though Marigold had no idea what "adopted" meant. She figured, however, that it must be a good thing for such joy to be spread about at the mere mention of the word.  
  
Frodo released Sam's hands, and began cartwheeling and jumping about the room, still crying out giddily. By this time, Bilbo had picked up the discarded pink towel, and smirked. "Now, lad!" he exclaimed, running after him. "This is no way to be acting in front of ladies!"  
  
"Ah, who cares?" Frodo called back, nearly bouncing off the walls. "I'm ADOPTED! Wooohoooo!"  
  
After much chasing about the room, Bilbo finally caught hold of the lad, and pressed the boy's back to his chest while trying to get the towel back on him. Frodo writhed, laughing as he wildly tried to free himself of his uncle's grasp. Bilbo, just as merry as the lad, gave him a bit of a tickle (only increasing the laughter in the smial) then gave Frodo's unruly curls a kiss.  
  
Hamfast smiled down at his son, and ruffled the boy's curls. "I'm proud of you, lad. Don't you e'er forget that, neither. . ." Sam's eyes shone with a joy equivalent to that of his friend's; everything was back to the way it was - no, Sam corrected, it was even better than before.  
  
Everything was perfect now. 


	10. A Friendship Forever

The Monster of Bywater  
  
Chapter Ten - A Friendship Forever  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
Author's Note: Yep, this is the last chapter. . . About time, huh? Sorry it took so long; I've been really busy with school and stuff, and I'm just at a really weird in-between place right now. . . It's hard to explain. Anyway, I've seen Two Towers. Cool, huh? Well, enough with the suspense and all. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!  
  
It was now several hours later, and the sun was beginning to set in the West. Bilbo had finally convinced his new heir to put on some more clothing, and as an award for both that and the bet, had allowed his nephew to borrow his yet-to-be-finished book. Grinning eagerly, Frodo took a seat beneath the tree in his yard, preparing to plow through the written pages. However, a voice over the fence caused him to stop.  
  
"Hullo, Mr. Frodo. . ."  
  
Frodo looked up and smiled at his visitor. "Why, hello, Sam!" he called out with blithe. "It's wonderful to see you again so soon." Glancing over at his smial cautiously, Frodo lowered his voice. "You didn't get punished, did you. . .?"  
  
A smile crossed Sam's youthful face. "Just a bit of dish-duty, sir. But it isn't so bad - when I do them tonight, I'll be allowed to stay up as late as my brothers!" Frodo chuckled at his friend's enthusiasm.  
  
"Why, that's terrific. . ." He smiled. "Well, except for the dishes, of course. Would you like to join me?" Sam nodded his head energetically, and before the tweenager could do any more, he had took off at a run. Within seconds, he was on the inside of the white picket fence and was sitting next to him. Frodo laughed once more.  
  
"This here is Uncle Bilbo's book," he explained, allowing for Sam to gaze at the golden writing on the front of the red cover. The boy "ooed" appropriately, and Frodo opened up to the first page. "'There and Back Again,'" he read aloud, "'by Bilbo Baggins.'" He flipped to the next page, and there was a great map of the Northern regions of Middle-Earth. Frodo tried to read some of the names on the map, but it was troublesome to do so at the angle he had to hold it at for the boy to see it. An idea sprung to mind.  
  
"Say," Frodo said, "why don't you sit on my lap? *That* way, you can see all the pictures and I can still read it to you." Sam nodded his approval of the idea, and crawled into the older lad's lap. Frodo began reading the chapter entitled "Concerning Hobbits" when Sam interrupted.  
  
"Mr. Frodo. . ." he whispered.  
  
"Yes, Sam?"  
  
Sam turned his head about, and looked up at the other with an expression of innocence that could only belong to a child. His eyes gleamed in the last rays of the sun.  
  
". . .Will you be my friend?"  
  
Frodo stared at him a moment, not quite sure what to say. He had thought that the boy had already asked this with the way he spoke and acted about him, and didn't need to be put into the form of a question. In the end, deciding not to say this and make a long-winded discussion of this, he gave the lad the answer he so desired.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sam's eyebrows arched up anxiously. "Forever?"  
  
A smile crossed Frodo's lips, and his blue eyes softened, filled with affection and admiration for the boy's untainted innocence. More than anything in the entire world, he wanted to protect this from all foes - sadness, grief, hatred, loneliness - all things that nightmares were made from. With all the life in him, he wanted to protect this boy from such dreadful things.  
  
"*Forever.*"  
  
~*~THE END~*~  
  
Author's Second Note: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really hoped you enjoyed this as much as I did thinking and writing about it. If you have not already, I hope you will join me in my other stories (Frodo and Sam friendship fics are my specialty ~_^). I would love to have you! Have a lovely day, and my best wishes to you. 


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